


a fool for another day

by homelesshats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 90'S, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Girl Direction, M/M, cis girl!harry and louis, the rest of them are still boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3076688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homelesshats/pseuds/homelesshats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the middle of December, 1997 in Spring Valley, New York. Louis is a potty-mouthed dancer that wants to make it into Juilliard, Harry is a doe-eyed, amateur photographer, Zayn is the most popular boy in school, Niall is loud and Irish, and Liam's just along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a fool for another day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovefern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovefern/gifts).



> the prompt for this was: cis girl harry and cis girl louis make a bet as to who could get with zayn, the prettiest girl/boy in their school first. crazy antics and public embarrassments ensue. i took a few liberties, but only with what i felt necessary. 
> 
> disclaimer: i don't know much about how auditions work for colleges, and i certainly don't know anything at all about auditioning for juilliard. all of this is made-up from my own mind, purely fictional. 
> 
> and if you're curious, [this is the dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0o6-Am80Y0) i envisioned louis using for her audition (to the song it goes with, "rump shaker" by wreckx-n-effect). the title is a lyric from the song _barely breathing _by duncan sheik. i really got into writing this fic, i made a playlist of all 90's music and watched 10 things i hate about you probably ten million times. i suggest that everyone reading this finds some good 90's mixes and settles in for a good, old flashback to choker necklaces and windbreakers. enjoy!__

_One, two, pop. Lean right, five, six._

Music blares through tinny boombox speakers as Louis’ body rolls to the beat. It’s clear that the intense practices Louis has put herself through have been paying off. Her movements are much more precise in the reflection of the studio mirrors.

The pop song’s lyrics pound through the speakers, but the voice is echoed by a slightly deeper tone.

Louis barely misses a beat to glance at the doorway. Harry is leaning against the doorframe, her smile a beam of light in the dim studio. From her appearance, it looks as though she’s just come from an impromptu Journalism Club meeting. A black, bulky camera hangs from her neck and, though Harry always paints on smiles for Louis, her eyebrows are brought up together in pent-up frustration.

Louis’ routine ends with a body roll and then the heel of her right foot hits the floor on the downbeat. Harry erupts into catcalls and applause.

“Thanks, Curly,” Louis huffs with a crooked smile. She tightens the bun on her head and makes a beeline toward her water bottle.

“You’ve been working really hard on this routine.” Harry waltzes to meet Louis, her eyes bright with mischievous delight. “I think you’re actually - oh, god - sweating.”

Louis rolls her eyes at Harry. She takes a long gulp of her water, a single droplet escaping her lips and trailing down her chin. Harry reaches over to swipe it away with her thumb.

“My audition’s in two weeks,” Louis replies. She’s still vaguely out of breath, her chest heaving. “If I wanna get into that fucking school, I’ve gotta be good.”

She tries to shrug it off, but Harry can see how much meaning is behind her words. The desperation inside of Louis is obvious to her.

“Language,” Harry scolds her, but there’s obviously no heat behind it, “and, you’re gonna get in.”

“You don’t know that.” Louis brushes a stray hair out of her face, trying to deviate from the topic of conversation. “How was the meeting?” She asks, nodding to the camera against Harry’s chest.

For a moment, Harry only stares back at Louis, likely because she wants to continue to conversation about Louis’ audition for Juilliard, but then she lets out a distraught sigh.

“Ben’s making me photograph for the sports section of the school paper. Again.” She pinches her bottom lip between her nimble fingers, the red nail polish complimenting the cool pink of her mouth. “Even after I talked to him about taking photos of the art district downtown.”

Louis’ mouth immediately twists into a frown. She despises that idiotic, misogynistic, arrogant son of a bitch. Any time Harry even mentions his name, Louis’ mood plummets.

It’s not even about how much of an asshat Ben is - though that’d be enough of a reason to hate him - it’s because of the way he treats Harry. He bosses her around like she’s his slave, like he has some ultimate authority over her. It drives Louis insane. She’s always been protective of Harry, but Ben brings out an entirely different side of Louis’ animalistic anger. Louis would rip Ben’s throat out if she was certain she wouldn’t be caught.

“Just give me the word,” Louis mutters, reaching down to pick up her boombox. “Just say it, and he’s as good as dead.”

Harry frowns, her eyebrows furrowing adorably.

“I’m not letting you leave me for a life sentence in prison,” she says with a pout. Louis rolls her eyes, attempting - but failing - to hide her smirk.

“I’ll hire a hitman or something,” Louis pets at Harry’s curls. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll never leave you.”

Harry, satisfied by Louis’ reply, links her arm with her best friend’s and fixes a smile on her lips.

“Good.” She briefly rests her head on the top of Louis’, smushing the messy bun atop her scalp.

As Louis leads Harry out of the school’s studio doors, she feels her stomach begin to rumble, and from the small giggle that leaves Harry’s lips, the rumble is loud enough for passersby to hear in the hall.

“I want some ice cream,” Louis thinks out loud. “D’you wanna stop at DQ before we head home?” She presses her shoulder against the doors that lead outside, the bright light of the sun shining into the dim school building. The two of them continue on, treading down the pavement to the crosswalk, arm in arm.

“Ice cream hasn’t been settling with my tummy too good lately.” Harry pats her stomach sympathetically before shaking her head. “But I’ll go with if that’s what you want.”

Louis stops them as they reach the end of the sidewalk, waiting for the sign to change. She peeks up at Harry with an impish grin settled on her lips.

“You’re the best best friend I could’ve asked for, Harry Styles,” she proclaims proudly. The crosswalk sign changes just as Louis begins to step into the street, blatantly ignoring the blush on Harry’s cheeks.

 

* * *

 

 

A sigh flows from Louis’ pouted lips as she stares out of the cafeteria windows. When neither Harry nor Liam pay her any attention, she sighs again, loud and obnoxious.

“Tommo,” Liam doesn’t even look towards Louis as he speaks, his mouth full of turkey sandwich. “We know you hate the cold weather. You tell us every year.”

Louis shoots Liam a cold glare. She knows she tells them every year, but it’s not her fault that winter is an annual thing.

“I wish I was in Hawaii,” she groans, chin in her hands. Harry gives her a sympathetic smile before she begins to munch on a banana from the bottom-up. Harry always peels her bananas the wrong way. Harry is weird.

“Have you ever been to Hawaii?” Liam asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“No,” Louis snaps. “But I still wish I was there right now.” Fixing a deep frown out of her mouth, Louis presses her hand to the large, bay window and watches as frost forms around the edges of her skin. “Instead, I’m in Spring Valley, New York, withering away in this frozen wasteland.”

“It’s only forty degrees, Lou. That’s over freezing temperatures.” A smug grin lifts Liam’s lips. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re dramatic,” Louis whines, cheek smushed against the glass.

The decaying trees in the school’s courtyard stand straight against the whipping breeze that’s carrying inches and inches of snow with it, letting it lay wherever it desires. Louis’ sure her car is bound to be covered with it by the time school ends. Just the thought of it - and knowing she’ll have to clear it off and sit in the driver’s seat, shivering as she waits for the defrost to melt the frost from her windows - nearly brings a tear to her eye.

Hopefully she’ll be able to convince Harry to clear her car off. Maybe she’ll bribe her with IOU’s. Harry’s always asking Louis for favors, Louis should start charging her for her services. (Even though Louis would never dream of making Harry pay.)

“So,” Liam interrupts Louis’ thoughts, “you guys’ll never guess who showed up twenty minutes late to English this morning.”

Harry furrows her eyebrows, an adorably quizzical look in her eyes.

“Zayn Malik,” Liam answers himself proudly.

“Most popular boy in school?” Louis gasps, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Harry breaks into a fit of raucous laughter.

Their ridiculous inside joke - referring to Zayn Malik as the most popular boy in school every single time his name is mentioned - has been going on for years. They were still in middle school when Zayn moved to Spring Valley, just as beautiful then - a bright-eyed, olive-skinned marvel of a thirteen year old - as he is now. Everyone knows him, and everyone wants him. It’s nice to make fun of his infamy in the town from time to time.

Liam waits for Harry’s giggles to subside before he continues.

“He looked like shit. His hair was all mussed up and he didn’t even say anything to Mr. Robertson, just walked in and sat down, no pass or anything. Like he was a zombie.”

“Why is this important?” Louis raises an eyebrow at Liam, unimpressed.

Liam shrugs, nonplussed by Louis’ tone, and places a chip in his mouth.

“It was just funny, I guess. Thought I’d share.”

“Well, thank you, Liam, for sharing this magnificent tidbit about Zayn Malik -”

“- most popular boy in school,” Harry adds in.

“We really needed to know that he showed up to school looking like every other high school student: hasn’t slept in days and just smoked an enormous bowl in his car.”

Liam gives Louis an affronted glare.

Louis kisses the side of his face, leaving a pink lipstick imprint, and pulls back with a dazzling smile.

“He’s so pretty, though. I bet he’s gorgeous when he smokes,” Harry interrupts before taking a sip from her coke. “Smoke lifting from his perfect lips, beautiful brown eyes all glazed over. Fuck. I would take so many photos. And I wouldn’t even sell them, I’d just put them all over my walls.”

Louis smirks at Harry.

“Only so you could get off to them,” Louis waggles her eyebrows.

Harry shrugs a shoulder while taking a long, long drink, her mischievous eyes never leaving Louis’. Louis’ smirk grows into a full blown grin.

“You two are gross,” Liam groans.

Louis snaps her eyes to him, daggers thrown from her icy blues.

“Why? You afraid of women’s bodies, Payno? Afraid of a woman pleasuring herself? Afraid of a woman not needing a cock - specifically yours?”

Liam stares back at Louis like she’s insane.

“No, I’d just rather not think about my best friends masturbating over Zayn Malik.”

“Most popular boy in school.” Harry finishes before tacking on, “And that’s probably because you’d rather be the one jacking off to him.”

Liam gapes at Harry, crunching his empty bag of chips in his fist. “I’m - I don’t - I am one-hundred percent not gay,” Liam argues, lips turned down in a frown.

Louis rolls her eyes, already over this conversation before its even begun.

“Bisexuality is a thing, Li,” Harry continues, far more patient than Louis ever could be.

“I’m - I don’t think - I’m not that, either. I don’t jerk off to Zayn Malik!” He yells out, loud enough for nearby students to overhear. Liam’s face flashes red as Harry and Louis fall over each other in laughter.

“M-most popular - boy in school,” Louis chokes out through giggles. Liam hides his face in his hands.

“Why do I even hang out with you two?” He asks, clearly to himself, but Louis takes it upon herself to answer anyways.

“Because of that one time in second grade when you peed your pants and everyone made fun of you, except for me and Harry.” Louis runs her fingers lovingly through Harry’s curls. They’re getting a bit long, now that Harry’s decided to stop trimming her hair. The tips are nearly down to her hips.

“Lou,” Harry says as she turns to face her, “you called Liam ‘Pee-Pee Payno’ for three months.”

Louis waves her hand dismissively.

“Details, shmetails. You know you love me, Lee-yum.” She tosses him an exaggerated wink before stealing Harry’s Coke. Liam rolls his eyes as a smile tugs at his lips.

The remainder of lunch goes by too quickly. A blaring, sharp bell dings across the school, signaling the end of lunch and forcing the trio to head to their next classes. Liam waves goodbye when the gymnasium comes into view, leaving Harry and Louis to walk themselves to their sixth period classes.

Louis has Economics this period, and though she dreads the class because the teacher is annoying and talks like he’s in slow-motion, she perks up when she spots a very handsome, graceful boy across the hall at his locker.

There’s a stray hair dangling against his forehead, the rest combed back, long black locks laying along his tan skin. His lips are pouted, naturally pink and plump, and his eyes are dazed but still focused, like he’s had a long night. There are graphite smudges on his fingers, his over-sized cardigan is hanging loosely off one shoulder, the pair of jeans that are tight on his small legs are torn and splattered with paint, and he’s beautiful. He’s incredibly, outrageously beautiful.

“Man,” Louis sighs, adjusting the bookbag on her shoulder, “what I would give to get my hands on him.”

Harry follows Louis’ line of vision and when her eyes find Zayn, she snaps back to Louis.

“What if I want my hands on him?” Harry counters, a pout on her cherry red lips.

“Harry.” Louis laughs haughtily. “Harry, please.”

Immediately, Harry’s face falls.

“What?” She narrows her eyes. “You think you have a better chance with him than I do?”

Louis begins to backtrack, sensing she’s said something wrong.

“No, no, sweetheart, of course not,” Louis says with a laugh. She doesn’t mean for it to come out insincere, but by the way Harry’s expression changes, that’s how it sounds.

Harry tilts her head, arms crossing over her chest, and smiles devilishly.

“I bet I can hook up with him before you do.” Her eyes are piercing as she keeps her gaze on Louis. There’s no joke in the green of her irises.

Louis raises her eyebrow, suddenly and intensely interested.

“Alright, yeah.” Louis nods. “And what happens if I get to him before you?” Harry stares at her quizzically. “C’mon, Styles, put your money where your mouth is. How much are we betting? A month’s homework? Three months’ worth of gas?”

“You have to go to MoMA with me in the Spring.” Harry decides, no doubt in her expression.

“That’s it? If you win, I just have to go to the dumb Modern Art museum in New York?” Harry nods. “Okay. Well, if I win, you have to be my chauffeur for a month. Agreed?”

Harry grins.

“Agreed.”

 

* * *

 

 

Snow falls down like a blanket, covering the ground with layers of white. Louis stares out of the window, wondering if this is the third or fourth day in a row it’s snowed. School should’ve been cancelled for the past two days, but the district thinks, for some reason, that it’s safe to drive in ten inches of snow.

Louis finally looks back toward the front of the class, where Madame Bennet is rattling on and on in French. Most of the time, Louis can understand her, but today she can’t be bothered. She’d stayed up all night, reading the entirety of Crime and Punishment for her English course because past-Louis thought it was a good idea to procrastinate. The dark circles around her eyes are only barely hidden by the concealer she’d caked on this morning.

There’s a week and four days until Louis’ Juilliard audition. Her routine is still a little sloppy, she can’t help it, but she knows that it needs to be flawless if she’s going to considered. She’ll stay after school for the rest of the week in the studio, rehearsing, and hopefully, by the end of the weekend, it’ll get her in.

The annoyingly pitchy bell rings and shatters Louis’ thoughts. It brings her back to the present, other students rushing to get out of the classroom. She follows after them once she’s packed her French book into her bag.

Once in the hallway, she spots a familiar - and gorgeous - face at the end of the corridor. Zayn Malik, Prince of Spring Valley High School, is sipping at the drinking fountain, water droplets running off his chin.

Louis’ feet begin to walk her forward before she has a chance to realize what’s happening. Within moments, she’s leaning against the locker closest to the fountain, watching Zayn like a lioness stalking its prey.

Zayn straightens up, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. His gaze is curious when he meets Louis’ eyes, but he doesn’t speak.

“Hey,” Louis greets him after a moment of silence.

“Hi.” Zayn blinks at her, not unkind but not welcoming either. “Er, are you waiting for the -- ?”

“No, no.” Louis shakes her head, running a hand through her hair. “I wanted to introduce myself. We’ve been going to school together for a few years, and I thought I should finally say hello. I’m Louis.” She holds out her hand in his direction.

“I know who you are,” Zayn says with a chuckle. He shakes her hand politely before pulling back and shoving his own hand into his jacket pocket. “We had P.E. together freshman year.”

“Oh, yeah! That’s right, we did,” Louis laughs.

“You were always team captain when we played dodgeball,” Zayn goes on.

“Because I always had the best strategies,” Louis offers with an eyeroll. “I never lost.”

“Right.” Zayn smirks. Either Louis is hallucinating, or Zayn has a literal twinkle in his eye. Or maybe it’s just a freckle.

“So, uh, I was wondering --”

“Louis!”

Louis is gonna smack someone.

Harry comes skidding down the hallway, almost crashing into Louis but bypassing her in enough time so she runs into Zayn instead. His hands immediately pull themselves from his pockets and grasp onto Harry’s shoulders, steadying her beside him.

“You alright?” He asks, but Harry begins talking faster than Louis’ ever heard her speak.

“Lou, your mom is in the nurse’s office. She said you needed a change of panties ASAP. Something about ‘trusting the fart.’ She brought you the ones with Hello Kitty on them.”

To the normal outsider, when looking at Harry, they would see only worry. But Louis knows better. Louis can see through the bullshit. She can see through any wall that Harry tries to put up. And she can see the manic fucking grin hiding behind her anxious frown.

Motherfucking bitch.

“I’ll talk to you later, Zayn,” Louis grits through her teeth. Before Zayn can reply, Louis is tugging Harry by the hand down the hallway and around the corner.

She stops at a stairwell, where only a few students hustle past them, and shoves Harry up against the wall. Giggles are spilling over Harry’s lips, even though Louis is holding her shirt in a tight fist.

“That’s how it’s gonna be, Styles?” Louis growls, but she can’t help the smile that breaks through. “You really wanna go down this road with me?”

Harry is too busy giggling like an idiot to answer. Her eyeliner is smudging in the outer corners of her eyes.

“Alright, but you asked for it,” Louis warns as she releases Harry’s tshirt. “You asked for it, you son of a bitch.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I really feel like I shouldn’t be helping you.”

Louis glances at Liam from around the corner, her eyes narrowed.

“What?” She scoffs. “Why?”

Liam shrugs a shoulder while staring in the direction of Harry’s Spanish classroom.

“It feels like I’m picking sides. I don’t like it. I’m neutral in this - I’m Switzerland.” Liam’s lips jut out in a pout, and though Louis can’t see his eyes, she knows they’re bound to pay resemblance to a puppy’s.

“You’re such a baby,” Louis groans. “And you’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I am.”

“O-kay.” Louis keeps herself hidden behind the corner of the wall, beyond where Harry would be able to spot her, and continues to wait silently until the bell rings.

She’s hoping she’s timed this right. Harry’s Spanish class is almost directly across the hall from Zayn’s locker, and Zayn takes about twenty seconds to get from his English class to his locker. (Louis may have timed it the day before, so what. She knows she’s weird. She also knows she’ll go to any length for a prank.)

She convinced Liam to help her out for this one, since she knows Harry isn’t an idiot and would know Louis was up to something if she saw her waiting at the end of the hall. So, the two of them left their classes at 2:11, innocently asking their teachers if they could go to the bathroom, and met up in the World Languages hallway.

It seems like too much work for such a small prank, but. Louis goes all the way.

“Wait,” Louis pauses. “Am I Germany or America in that analogy?”

The school bell sounds throughout the corridor.

“Does it matter?” Liam doesn’t look back at Louis, but Louis can tell he’s rolling his eyes.

“Yes. I won’t stand for being Germany. I am not Hitler --”

“She’s coming,” Liam interrupts, pushing off from the wall.

“Is Zayn at his locker yet?” Louis stretches her fingers out, each painted fingernail catching the light of the fluorescents above her.

“No.” Liam glances at Louis with a pair of thick, furrowed eyebrows.

“Fuck.” She only spares one second before pushing Liam in the direction of Harry. “Stall her.”

Liam starts to argue, but Louis shoves him as hard she can without being seen by the other side of the corridor before he can continue. From behind the corner of the hallway, she can still see a decent view of Zayn’s locker without being seen by Harry, so she keeps her eye on it, hoping Liam will somehow hold Harry in the middle of the hall.

It seems like hours before Zayn finally comes into view, his bulky boots clunking on the linoleum floor. Louis waits, her heart pounding, until she feels it’s the best moment.

Zayn places one book into the shelf of his locker and that’s when Louis springs out from behind the corner, racing toward Harry and Liam and screaming like a motherfucking banshee.

Poor Harry - she decided to to wear a pleated skirt on the day this would happen. It’s like her subconscious wants to make it easy for Louis.

There’s barely a moment for Harry to react before Louis is coming up behind her and tugging her skirt down to her ankles. Louis doesn’t waste any time getting away, but she does catch a glimpse of a bright red thong in the corner of her eye as she races down the corridor, pushing through a crowd of laughing students.

“Louis!” The voice of a disgruntled Harry screams. “Seriously?”

Louis’ maniacal laughter travels down the school’s hall as she stampedes through it. Her tennis shoes squeak against the flooring as she rushes by giggling students, and then she’s gone, down the stairwell and off to her Calculus class. (But, not before she can give Zayn a friendly pat on the backside.)

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been a week since Louis showed the entire World Language hallway Harry’s underpants and Harry hasn’t done anything to retaliate. Louis is getting antsy.

What is Harry’s planning to do something awful? What if it’s life-threatening? What if Harry is actually an evil mastermind and Louis is the first of many victims?

Louis glances at Harry, who is sitting at her desk three people away from Louis. She’s making paper snowflakes out of her Calculus homework.

Okay, so. Maybe she’s not an evil mastermind.

Which, alright, it’d be a long stretch if she was. Louis’ known Harry since they were in diapers, she’d know if Harry had any evil in her body. And she doesn’t, she’s probably made of things like cotton candy and rainbows.

One time, when the two of them were in fifth grade, their class was instructed to get with a partner and draw one another on a blank sheet of paper. When Louis had drawn Harry, it was your basic stick-drawing with curly ringlets and big, green eyes. The figure was surrounded by kittens and there were a few happy clouds in the sky above her.

Harry’s drawing of Louis wasn’t your usual stick-drawing. She’d gone out of her way to find every color of the rainbow in her crayola box, each and every color their own patch on the sheet of paper. The ‘Louis’ was covered in glitter - where did she even get glitter? - and was surrounded by what Harry called “happy bubbles.” Basically, circles with smiley faces.

But, even though the drawing was a disaster, Louis loved it. She took it home and made her mom put it on the refrigerator. It’s, now, pinned to Louis’ bedroom wall.

“Louis Tomlinson,” a voice calls from the classroom door. Louis looks up to meet the principal’s hardened gaze. “In the hallway, now.”

A chorus of “ooh’s” fill the room, but Louis stands with pride and gives a small bow before she’s tugged out into the corridor with the principal and both deans.

The hall is littered with papers, hundreds, if not thousands, plastered to lockers and scattered on the floor. Louis raises her eyebrows.

“Well, ladies,” Louis says after she lets out a low whistle. “I’m delighted that you all think I could pull all of this off, but, alas, I did not.”

Miss Michaels, the nicer of the two deans, holds out one of the papers she’s likely picked up from the floor.

“Is this you, Miss Tomlinson?” She asks, annoyed. Mrs. Albert, the other dean, lets out a prolonged sigh.

Louis looks down at the piece of paper in the dean’s hand, readying a speech to get her out of this mess, when she recognizes the photograph staring back at her.

The photo is from two Christmases ago, the first time Louis had ever tried whiskey. It was also the first time Louis got completely hammered.

The moment staring back at Louis is one she doesn’t need a photo to recall. The night is practically burned into her retinas.

Louis, the theatrical queen she is, had gotten into her mother’s make-up after half of a bottle of whiskey. The time was two a.m. and Harry didn’t have the decency to tell Louis how much of an idiot she was going to feel like in the morning.

Blue eye shadow is smeared in heavy circles around Louis’ eyes. There are bright red circles of blush on Louis’ cheeks to match her cherry red lipstick, which would’ve been an alright choice if it hadn’t been for her poor coordination and blurry eyesight. The lipstick has flecked itself on Louis’ teeth, blotches of red on pearly white. A harsh, black line runs from one eyebrow to the eyebrow, never disconnecting. Louis’ hair is pulled back in two disheveled pigtails. She’s grinning as wide as she possibly can. She looks so fucking blissed out.

Harry is the devil.

“That sneaky bitch.”

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Irvins gasps, but her voice is muffled by the goddamn school bell.

It’s an odd feeling, waiting for thousands of eyes to find her. She knows they will, sooner or later, but until they do, Louis’ own gaze is fixed on a pair of mischievous, nearly-feline green eyes staring back at her from inside of the classroom, a grin settled on her lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Louis settles into the chair in front of the microphone, pulling herself closer and opening Harry’s journal to the right page.

“You’re sure you won’t get in trouble?” She asks, looking over her shoulder at Niall, the Irish boy who uses the loud-speaker to make announcements and play music during passing periods.

Niall stops flipping through CDs to look at Louis, big blue eyes as honest as anything.

“No, but who gives a fuck?” He laughs, the sound coming all the way from his stomach. “Let ‘em give me a detention, it’s bloody worth it.”

Louis turns away as she speaks.

“It’s your funeral,” she mutters, rereading the page once more.

After the photo incident, Louis’d taken the rap and, surprisingly, had only gotten three days’ detention. When Louis asked Harry how she did it, since she’d been in Study Hall with Louis the entire time, Harry merely lifted a finger to Louis’ lips and winked at her.

Liam told Louis she’d hired a bunch of underclassmen to print off the photos and post them around school for five dollars each. She promised them all a kiss on the cheek if they didn’t rat her out.

Henceforth, Louis needed to get her back and get her back good.

So she stole Harry’s journal from her backpack and is planning to read one of the most embarrassing excerpts on the announcements.

As she reads along Harry’s neat cursive, she wonders if this may be going too far. Maybe she ought to read a different page, something less--

“You’re on,” Niall comments, pointing to the illuminated ‘LIVE’ sign above the door.

In the same second, Louis transforms into her stage self, loud and brash and overwhelming.

“Good morning, Spring Valley High! How’s everyone doing this fine day? Don’t answer that, I don’t actually care.” Niall’s laughter sounds throughout the room when Louis pauses. “So, hey, what better thing to do on an amazing day like this than to open our hearts? Let out a little secret or two. I bet we’ll all feel tons better. I’ll start! Well, actually,” Louis hums, leaning into the mic, “our very own Harry Styles is going to start, but she’s a bit shy - I know, boys, I know, hard to believe - so I offered to read off a bit from her journal for her.”

By now, there’s a crowd gathering outside of the small office, watching Louis through the square window.

“‘November 14th, 1997,’” Louis begins, “‘I want Ben Winston dead. There, I said it. After two years of dealing with his stupid, pompous face, I’m ready to run him over with my bike. I can’t believe we hooked up sophomore year, I can’t believe I ever thought he was anything other than an asshole. You know, he wants to move out to L.A.? Yeah. He thinks he’s gonna be some big director, like he has any sort of talent. God, that’s so mean, but I don’t even care. He refuses to even acknowledge my ideas. He’s a dick, and I can’t believe I sucked his.’”

Louis is seconds from diving into a long spiel about how she agrees with Harry, she can’t believe the two of them ever had something between them, when there’s a loud roar of laughter from outside the office.

Glancing up from the sound system, Louis comes face to face with Harry, who’s staring through the window. Her eyes are filled equally with rage and tears. The group of students around her are laughing, though, some of them are trying to keep it in while Harry’s in hearing distance.

Harry doesn’t say a word. Louis can hear everything she wants to say.

Louis is glued to the chair. She can’t get up, not even when Harry shoves her way through the crowd and leaves a trail of laughter behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

The music is loud. Louis’ thoughts are loud. The blood pumping through her veins is loud. Everything is loud.

Louis’ grunts grow louder each time she hits a beat, the air in her lungs punching out in gasps. If there’s one thing she can focus on, it’s this. If there’s one thing that can get her mind off of how she hasn’t spoken to Harry in four days, it’s dance.

Louis has lived her entire life in rhythmic steps. When she was five, she forced her entire family to watch a two-hour recital in their living room. When she was eight, she started going to dance lessons with Marge - an old, wise ballet dancer that influenced nearly everything Louis did. When she was thirteen, she and Harry attempted to recreate the famous Dirty Dancing sequence. Louis was Baby.

Freshman year of high school, Marge passed away and the town’s dance studio shut down. No one wanted, nor was qualified enough, to take over, so the studio’s become a nail salon. Louis was forced to continue dancing without an instructor, and though it’s not advised, she’s been doing well.

Last summer, she auditioned for a major dance role in one of New York’s musicals, and was called back. When the casting director had called her the following week, it took everything in Louis’ heart to refuse. She knew she would have to choose between a once in a lifetime gig and graduating, but she didn’t know it’d be as hard as it was. To her benefit, she hadn’t known when she auditioned that the show would be traveling. She’d thought the show was only on for the summer.

Needless to say, Louis stayed in Spring Valley. It had taken a bit of convincing from her mother, and Harry, but she stayed, in hopes that she’d get into a good school and would train alongside other dancers with the same dreams as her own.

Louis’ foot stamps down on the ground as the verse ends, her thirty seconds of routine finishing, and she runs over to hit the boombox’s rewind button. When the song starts at the top, Louis moves back into place, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck.

Each bop and push and grind flows through her body. She can feel when the music and her body are in sync. The rush of it is almost like a high.

All of it comes to a grinding halt when the door creaks open and Louis missteps. All of Louis’ anxiety and anger comes flooding back.

“Fuck,” she growls. Her finger can’t hit the stop button fast enough.

“Louis,” Liam’s voice penetrates the private space Louis’ created.

“What?” She doesn’t even turn to face him.

“Don’t.” He warns, no nonsense in his tone. “Stop acting like a child.”

Louis scoffs.

“This needs to stop. You guys haven’t spoken in days. You’re miserable, both of you.” Louis can see Liam in the mirror’s reflection, his eyebrows taut with frustration and arms crossed over his chest.

Louis’ not miserable, she’s perfectly fine. As long as she focuses on her dance routine and nothing else.

She hasn’t even tried talking to Zayn, though she thinks she probably should. He’s actually an interesting guy, through all of the popularity that follows him around. But Louis’ pretty sure that she and Harry’s bet is off. After all, who cares who hooks up with Zayn Malik when your best friend hasn’t spoken to you in four days?

“You don’t know how I feel,” Louis mutters, though she knows she actually is miserable.

“Lou.” Liam comes up behind Louis, forcing her to face him. “Ben kicked Harry off the school newspaper. I know I shouldn’t point fingers, but this is because of you, because of what you said on the intercom. Ben is a dick, we all know that, but Harry loves being on that paper. And she loves you, Louis, but now she doesn’t have anything but - but me, and I’m barely anything compared to you.” Liam’s shoulders slump from their defensive position and his eyes soften, dark brown irises clouded with worry. “So, just… Stop being an idiot and talk to her.”

Louis just breathes for a few moments. She looks into Liam’s eyes and she can see the earnest helplessness in them. She knows she’d probably find the same look in Harry’s.

Louis sighs. She’s so stupid.

“Where is she?” She swallows the lump in her throat.

“Last I knew, she was picking up her stuff from the newspaper office.” Liam grabs Louis’ hands, squeezing them tightly. “She’s not mad at you, okay?” Louis gives Liam an incredulous look. “Okay, she might be. A little. But she misses you more than she’s mad at you.”

It only takes three minutes to walk from the school’s studio room to the newspaper office. There’s a small group of students gathered around a table, one on a computer and the others writing in notebooks. Louis immediately recognizes the one on the computer as Ben. She can’t see Harry anywhere.

Louis takes a deep breath and knocks on the door frame.

A few heads snap up at the noise. Ben’s doesn’t.

“Do any of you know where I can find Harry?” She asks. She’s already exhausted.

“What, lost your girlfriend?” Ben mocks. The group giggles.

Louis grits her teeth.

“Your comeback is calling her my girlfriend? Because two girls in a relationship is just so fucking funny.” Louis rolls her eyes.

“It is when it’s the two of you.” Ben’s bored eyes finally meet Louis’.

“You’re just mad because she didn’t want your tiny pencil dick,” Louis almost-growls. “So you’ve been taking it out on her and every other girl in this school that doesn’t want to come close to your micropenis.”

The group has fallen silent, all eyes on Louis.

“She should’ve been the president of this stupid newspaper. She’s got more journalism in her goddamn pinky finger than you’ve got in your entire body. She’s a million times better than this dumb ass club. I’d be lucky to call her my girlfriend, and you were lucky to even have her on the board.” Louis turns on her heel, headed for the hall.

“Bitch,” Ben mutters, like Louis can’t hear him.

Louis takes a deep breath and balls her hands into fists. She tries to keep the bile in her throat from getting into her mouth. She really, really hates Ben Winston.

“Go fuck yourself,” Louis spits without facing them. For the first time, she swallows her pride. One step at a time, she continues down the corridor, heart pounding angrily in her chest.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s snowing when Louis exits the auditorium. She’s glad she decided to bring a pair of leg warmers to wear over her leggings, but they don’t help much against the blistering wind.

She’s just gone through her exhausting audition for Juilliard. She can’t believe she didn’t fuck up. The routine was smoothe and unique, compared to other auditioners, and the professors looked… pleased. Surprisingly pleased. They thanked her for coming and told her that they’d be in touch. Louis took that to mean that they’d send their answer through the mail in a few weeks. She isn’t sure she’ll be able to wait that long.

There’s only one thing that bothers her. The entire time she sat in the auditorium seating, and while she was on stage, and especially when she was walking through the deserted hallways to find her way back outside, she was missing half of her. She had no hand to hold when she was nervous. No reassuring smile in the crowd to find. No warm, loving hug after the ordeal was over.

After Louis left the newspaper office on Friday, she stopped by the Styles’ house, assuming that if Harry wasn’t at school and wasn’t with Louis, she was likely home.

Anne, Harry’s mother, answered the door with a genuine smile and offered for Louis to come in. Gemma was sitting in the living room, watching 90210, and she gave Louis a flippant wave. Louis figured she was home from college for Christmas break.

Louis asked Anne if Harry was home and was met with a sad smile and a shake of the head.

“She told me this morning that she was staying after school to clean out her stuff from the newspaper room. Was she not there?” Anne frowned.

Louis shrugged and explained that she hadn’t exactly searched the room, she’d only asked the group of students in there if she was there and they hadn’t given her a straight answer.

So, with nowhere else to look for Harry, Louis went home and studied for her finals. (If studying for finals means taking a nap and then watching cartoons on Nickelodeon.)

This morning, Louis woke up from the nerves in her stomach. Her entire body felt tight and uncomfortable. From the second she opened her eyes, she needed Harry. She needed her to rub her shoulders and comb her hair, she needed her to tell her everything would be fine and to stop worrying. Louis needed Harry. And she didn’t have her.

Louis pulls up the lapels on her coat, shielding her cheeks from the chill, and races to her car with keys jingling in her fingers.

Maybe there’s a reason Harry hasn’t tried to contact Louis. Maybe it’s more than Harry being angry with her. Maybe Harry’s been looking for a way out of their friendship and this was the perfect chance.

Which… Louis would do anything for Harry. She would let Harry set her hair on fire, she’d let Harry drive her car off a cliff, she’d even let Harry plunge a knife straight through her heart if that’s what she really wanted. But Louis’ not sure she could ever let Harry just walk right out of her life.

They’ve been together since they were toddlers. Their mothers always joked about them growing old and having twenty cats together. Louis was never opposed to the idea. Living with Harry for the rest of her life was always on the agenda for her. There was never any other plan.

Suddenly, it hits Louis like a brick thrown at her head.

She’s in love with Harry.

She’s in love. With Harry.

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Who the hell thinks it’s funny to throw fucking marbles at someone’s window in the middle of the goddamn night?” Louis yells into the crisp night air. Her eyesight is still foggy from sleep and the wind is blasting right into her face. She’s going to kill the stupid neighborhood kids that think pranking her is acceptable. After all, she’s the one who taught them all of their tricks.

“Sorry…” comes a voice that definitely does not belong to a preteen boy.

When Louis focuses her eyes on the ground, she’s nearly knocked out of the window.

“Harry?” She says. She hopes her voice doesn’t sound as desperate as she is.

Harry sheepish smile glows in the light of the December moon. She waves a her fingers up at Louis.

“What are you doing?” Louis’ breath is stark white in the air.

“Throwing marbles at your window at two in the morning,” Harry supplies, voice barely above a whisper. She’s shivering.

Louis resists an eyeroll.

“Thanks, smart ass.” Harry grins, though it’s obvious she’s trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “Why?”

“Because I wanna talk to you.” A chill runs so violently through Harry, Louis can see it. “Can I come in? It’s really cold and I’m afraid your neighbors’ devil chihuahua is gonna wake up because I’m talking so loud.”

“Yeah - yeah, of course. I’ll be down in a second.”

Louis quickly closes her window before making her way down to the front door. She steps quietly, careful to tread lightly on the old hardwood flooring. She opens the door once she twists the lock and Harry is standing right on the porch, half of her face buried in her Gucci coat.

Only then, when the chill hits Louis’ legs, does she realize she hasn’t got any pajama pants on. She pretends her cheeks don’t flush when Harry’s eyes zero in on them.

“C’mon, I’ll make some hot cocoa.” Louis leads Harry in by her coat sleeve, her fingers pressed into the fabric and barely grazing against Harry. Goosebumps still raise on her arms.

A few minutes later, Harry sits at the dining room table while Louis microwaves two mugs of hot chocolate, coat and boots removed. Her long-sleeved shirt and tight jeans cling to her body, as if they’re freezing from the chill outside, too. Like they’re searching for warmth.

Louis sits down across from Harry, mug in hand, after placing Harry’s in front of her. She blows into it and then proceeds to take a sip. The heat of the liquid dribbles down from her mouth through the rest of her body.

“I heard what you said about me.”

Louis glances up. She meets two piercing, green eyes, surrounded by black kohl eyeliner and mascara. Louis’ eyebrows furrow.

“What?” She whispers.

“On Friday, in the newspaper room. I was in the back when you came in. I heard you tell Ben to go fuck himself.” Harry taps her finger against the side of her mug, breaking eye contact. “I heard you stand up for me.”

“Of course I stood up for you.” Louis bites her lip, watching Harry’s movements. Her fingers won’t stop moving. “You’re my best friend.”

Harry nods, but it’s disheartening. She isn’t full of the bubbliness Louis is used to.

“How… How did the audition go?” Harry finally looks back up. A sad smile lifts her pretty pink lips.

Louis shrugs a shoulder.

“It was good.” A pang of sadness disrupts Louis’ heartbeat.

Harry smiles wider, the red in her cheeks much more prominent in her deepening dimples.

“I told you it’d be fine,” she says softly. A stray curl falls against her cheek and she tucks it behind her ear.

Louis can’t help the bright smile that she returns, the grin practically embedding itself there permanently.

“Yeah, you did, Curly.” She chuckles, turning her eyes back to the marshmallows that are disintegrating in her cocoa.

A calm silence falls over them as they drink their beverages and Louis isn’t sure if it’s awkward or not. The two of them have never been awkward, at least not with each other. She wonders if it’s her fault - if not her reading Harry’s journal and losing her the position on the newspaper, then the new realizations she’s had about her own feelings for Harry.

She still hasn’t decided what to do about it. On one hand, she thinks it’d be better if she just kept quiet about it. Why make a mess of something that’s going well? Why fuck everything up, even if it means being honest?

But on the other hand… she thinks Harry might give it a chance. Harry’s never judged anyone, and she’s shown interest in girls before. Why is it so weird to think she might look at Louis that way?

Louis doesn’t want to lose Harry. Bottom line, that’s what matters to her. Even if she’ll suffer for the rest of her life, watching Harry fall for other guys and girls while she stands on the sidelines. She doesn’t want to live a life with Harry.

“I’m sorry I got you kicked off the newspaper,” Louis whispers.

Harry shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“It’s okay. It was bound to happen sooner or later, y’know? Ben's never wanted me there, and what he wants is what they all want, so.” She sighs. Louis watches her chest rise and fall. “That was a pretty good prank, though. How’d you get my journal, anyways?”

“I am an excellent pickpocket when I want to be.” Louis raises her mug to her lips with a mischievous smirk.

“Of course.” Harry laughs.

Louis lets a quiet moment pass before opening her mouth again.

“So you forgive me?” She doesn’t even look at Harry.

A long, drawn out pause hangs in the air until Louis trails her gaze back to Harry and is caught by Harry’s own stare. It’s complemented by a soft smile.

“I guess so.” She mutters sarcastically against the rim of her mug.

Ten minutes later, the two of them move up to Louis’ bedroom after Louis insists that Harry should stay the night. Because it’s too cold, obviously.

They bring their mugs with them, though the cocoa has gone lukewarm, and try to walk past Louis’ sisters’ bedrooms without making any sound. It’s to no avail, though, when Harry stubs her toe on an endtable, nearly drops her mug, and Louis has to bite her tongue so harshly it bleeds just to keep from laughing.

Once they’re in Louis’ room, she sets her mug on her desk and goes to grab a tshirt and pajama pants from her closet for Harry to wear.

“Hey, Hazza,” she starts while trying to find a shirt that’s big enough for Harry’s lanky torso.

“Hm?” Harry hums from Louis’ bed.

“You, um,” Louis stutters. She pulls a powder blue tshirt from its hanger. “You can ask Zayn out, if you want. I don’t really care anymore.”

As Louis relocates to her chest of drawers to look for a pair of pants, silence fills the air. She vaguely wonders if Harry’s gone deaf.

“I never really cared, either,” Harry whispers.

Louis turns to look at Harry.

“Then why the hell did we make that stupid bet?” Louis places her hand delicately on her hip.

Harry moves her gaze to the carpet. Her foot starts to bounce up and down.

“Because…” Harry mutters. “I might’ve been - I mean, I could’ve been a little bit. Jealous?” Even with her face turned down, Louis can see Harry nibbling nervously on her bottom lip.

“Jealous?” Louis lets her arm drop as she leans back on her dresser. “Of me?”

Harry shakes her head.

“Of him?”

Harry doesn’t answer.

Louis’ heart drops into her stomach.

Harry was jealous of Zayn. Because Louis was attracted to him. Harry forced a bet so that she wouldn’t have to share Louis with Zayn. So Louis wouldn’t date Zayn.

“Sorry.” Harry starts, and Louis can hear the trembling in her voice. She would be able to see the worry in her eyes if only Harry would look up. “Is that okay? I know we’ve never… We’ve talked about how we think girls are attractive, but I - god. I’m sorry. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“It’s okay.” Blush rises on Louis’ cheeks. The heat is almost unbearable. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” She hopes her words convey what she’s trying to say.

Harry finally meets Louis’ eyes and it would’ve knocked her off her feet if she weren’t propped up against the dresser.

“It’s okay?” She asks. Her voice is soft and wary. It’s started snowing outside.

Louis just breathes for a moment. The room is heavy with tension and her heart is racing.

“It’s okay,” she finally whispers, for the third time, and a slow smile lifts itself on Harry’s lips.

Silence casts over Louis’ room, replacing the tension with excitement. Louis doesn’t know why her fingertips are tingling, or why she feels like she could dance and sing her little heart out. All she knows is that she never wants to feel any other way.

Ever since Louis’ realization in her car on Saturday morning, she’s been going insane. Half of her wanted to sprint through the neighborhood to Harry’s house so she could wrap Harry in her arms and never let go, but the other half wanted to crawl into her bed and ignore everyone forever.  Knowing she’d fucked up their friendship, and a chance at anything more, had started eating her up inside.

But Harry’s in her room, now, and she’s being honest about her own feelings. Louis should, at least, do the same.

“Haz --”

“Louis --”

They both trail off. Louis looks down at her feet where they’re fidgeting against each other, an  awfully obvious nervous habit.

“You first,” she tells Harry without looking up.

“Can I kiss you?”

Louis’ head snaps up at the question. She finds Harry’s gaze and, instantly, her mind goes fuzzy. Unable to form clear and concise words, she manages to nod her head.

In seconds, Harry sets down her mug on Louis’ bedside table and moves across the room to stand straight in front of Louis. She lets out a soft giggle, like she knows exactly how ridiculous and strange and amazing this all is, and Louis looks up to meet her wide, green eyes.

Louis never forgets how much taller Harry is, she’s reminded all the time, but she’s never thought of it as sexy. At least, not until now.

Harry doesn’t place her hands on Louis’ hips, she doesn’t cradle Louis’ cheek in her palm, and she doesn’t run her slender fingers through Louis’ hair when she presses their mouths together. She doesn’t move the way every guy Louis’ hooked up with has, it drives Louis a little wild. It leaves her yearning for more.

Louis drops the pajamas she was clutching in her hand and replaces it on Harry’s waist. She gently pulls Harry closer, hips pressed to hips, but tugs her lips away from Harry’s. She doesn’t anticipate the way her breathing has sped up.

“Shit.”

For a second, Louis thinks the word’s slipped from her own lips, but when she realizes Harry’s the one who’s just cursed, she lets out a bright, surprised laugh.

“Can we do that again?” Louis says, her voice barely above a whisper. She can feel Harry’s body heat radiating, the sheer closeness of their faces making Louis’ blood rush.

“Yes, oh my god,” Harry replies, closing the distance between them once more.

She places her gentle fingers on Louis’ jaw, her thumb caressing Louis’ heated skin, as she backs Louis up against the dresser. The contact shocks Louis a little, she’d forgotten where she was for a minute, but once she realizes what it is, she takes Harry’s hands and moves them to her waist.

“Lift me up,” she whispers against Harry’s soft lips.

Harry hums a response, grasping onto Louis tight and lifting her so she’s sat on the flat top of the dresser. Louis brings Harry between her legs, hands tangled in Harry’s shirt. Just the presence of Harry, so close and warm, has Louis’ heart fluttering as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

“I’ve daydreamed about this,” Harry admits quietly, placing gentle kisses up Louis’ jawline to her ear. “Is that weird?”

Louis can’t stop a breathy giggle from leaving her lips. She lifts the bottom of Harry’s shirt and circles her thumb around Harry’s hipbone.

“No,” she says, leaning her head to give Harry more access. “Well, maybe a little.”

Harry bites down on Louis’ neck. A shock of arousal shoots down her spine.

“It’s okay, though,” Louis says, a little breathless. She brings a hand up to Harry’s long, lush curls and pulls her back to meet eyes. “‘Cause you’re my weirdo.”

Harry grins, her manic grin that’s so contagious it would give the Bubonic plague a run for its money. Louis pets back her wild hair and smiles back.

“ _Your weirdo_?” Harry teases. She rests her forehead on Louis’.

“My weirdo.” Louis leans forward to press her lips to Harry’s. Her lips are delicate and plush, the kiss easy and comfortable. It’s like they’ve already done it a thousand times - like they’ll do it a thousand times more.

 

* * *

 

 

_One month later._

Louis grips Harry’s hand as tight as she can. She’s pretty sure she’s breaking Harry’s fingers, but Harry’s all smiles.

“Don’t you dare let go,” Louis warns with an icy glare. Harry squeezes Louis’ hand tighter.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replies in a soothing tone. Louis hates her girlfriend.

Harry made Louis go ice-skating with her, even though she knows Louis is useless on ice. They’ve been working on getting to the middle of the rink for the past ten minutes.

They brought Liam along, too, and he’s complained the entire time about being a third wheel. Well, that’s when he’s not flirting with the girl at the concession stand or skating circles around Louis.

Truthfully, this is a celebratory outing. After waiting painstakingly for four weeks, Louis got a letter from Juilliard in the mail. It came on December 30th, just days after Louis’ eighteenth birthday and Christmas. Harry was at the Tomlinson’s when the mailman came, and Louis was so nervous she made Harry open it.

It was an acceptance letter. She got in.

So, now, it’s January 2nd, and Harry planned an entire day to celebrate Louis getting into her first choice. First, they went to lunch and Harry paid for all of it - though it was only a couple of sandwiches at a deli, but still. After that they saw a movie, but Louis doesn’t even remember what it was. They were too busy doing otherwise.

And, now, Harry is trying to get Louis killed.

“Humans weren’t meant to walk on ice. You know who’s meant to walk on ice? Polar bears,” Louis mutters angrily as Harry carefully leads her forward. “Do I look like a polar bear?”

“No. You’re more like an Arctic fox.” Harry smirks at Louis, one dimple peeking from her blushing cheeks.

Louis growls playfully, teeth bared. Harry fakes a loud purring sound as she skates in closer to peck Louis on the lips.

“Well, would ya look at these two lovebirds,” shouts a loud, Irish accent.

Niall, with a green beanie perched on his head and matching mittens, zooms past Harry and Louis, his bright laugh carrying out in the large rink.

“Hi, Niall! Happy New Year,” Harry tells him just as another familiar face skates up to Niall and hooks arms with him.

“Happy New Year to you, too,” Niall grins, leaning his head on Zayn Malik’s shoulder.

“Hi, Zayn,” Louis says, trying - but failing - to look as though she knows what she’s doing.

“Hey,” he raises his eyebrows at Louis’ wobbly feet. “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” Louis grits through her teeth. Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ waist.

“So dramatic.” Harry kisses the top of Louis’ head, nose nuzzling into her hair.

“She gave me her number!” Liam skates in between the foursome, spinning around in a circle just to show off. He skids to a stop beside Niall.

“Congrats,” Louis mutters, clenching her fingers around Harry’s when her foot slips a bit.

Liam looks around the group, his enormous puppy eyes taking in the sight, and blinks - once, twice, and three times - before he speaks.

“Am I the only straight person in this whole town?” He says, wide-eyed.

“For fuck’s sake, shut up, Payno,” Louis throws out an arm to knock Liam off-balance. Instead, she ends up tumbling down onto the ice herself, tugging both Harry and Liam along with her.

Her bum hits the ice with a hard thump, but it doesn’t hurt as much as when Harry’s elbow plunges into her stomach and Liam’s entire body drops onto her legs.

She would be howling in pain if it weren’t for the outrageous laugh Niall lets out. It’s so big and brash it throws him forward, face-planting on the ice. He tries to grab Zayn’s hand, to keep himself upright, but all it does is tug Zayn right down beside him.

Suddenly, the five of them are laying helpless on the ice, contagious giggles racking through their bodies, and Louis maybe doesn’t hate winter so much anymore.

 

 


End file.
